


Let Me Down Gently

by Abagail_Snow



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Book: The Hunger Games, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagail_Snow/pseuds/Abagail_Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After learning that their romance was all a game, Peeta and Katniss struggle to keep the lie alive for the cameras. (Post-THG, Pre-CF)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Down Gently

The whirlwind of the Games is almost behind me and it can't come soon enough.  In the days following our return from the Capitol, a thirty man crew tagged along to document our transition into "Victors."  They've been buzzing around like gnats, decorating the streets of Twelve so they don't look so dismal.  Everything seems to have a stylist, even my new home, which is painted and papered then painted again every color of the rainbow until the designers are pleased.

I have to admit, I'd rather be surrounded by these strangers at the moment, than by Gale or even Peeta.  Peeta, thankfully, is busy enough on his own with similar preparations, and the only time our paths seem to cross is for the Capitol sanctioned celebrations.  We dance and hold hands and kiss like nothing has changed, but when the lights on the cameras dim, it's as if we're strangers again.

I try not to think about the nights we spent together in the cave and what they meant.  Peeta thinks it was all an act now, and maybe it's better that way, because then I don't have to figure out what I was feeling myself.  

By the time the first Parcel Day comes along, most of the guests from the Capitol have left.  They have plenty of time to stuff their faces with garish delicacies and brightly colored liqueurs, but not a second of empathy to spare for the children who will not see the amount of food in a week that their festivals host in a single day.

I'm glad they're gone though.  Parcel Day is the one victory we get in spite of the Games, and I don't want to share it with the people who have left us to suffer in the first place.

There's only one camera to capture the events, and as usual it's only trained on me and Peeta.  Even my prep team has left, but they'd left me with a pallet of colors and excruciatingly detailed instruction on where to apply each balm and in what order.  I may have gotten a few of them right, my reflection in the mirror looks close enough to how they usually prepare it, but I'm sure they're looking at the footage in horror wondering how I could have left the house looking the way I do.

Peeta is acting especially cool today.  As each camera packs up and ships back to the Capitol he grows more and more distant.  Like he's counting down the seconds until he can drop this act.  Come tomorrow the watchful eyes will be gone, and I may not see Peeta for months, when the Victory Tour begins and the show must start again.

I feel that heavy hollow weight in my chest, like a balloon is expanding and pushing away my insides.  It's becoming too familiar.  Consuming me every time I think of losing him.  I gasp for air and reach for his hand to anchor myself.

He's busy handing out parcel tins to a group of merchant children when my fingers wrap desperately around his arm, and he only acknowledges me for the briefest of seconds before pulling away from my grasp.

I try not to look wounded, and recover quickly, smiling brightly as I pluck the next tin from his hands and give it to an eagerly waiting child.

"We're supposed to be doing this together," I remind him through gritted teeth.

His eyes flit to where the camera is and then back to me.  Our gazes never meet fully anymore.  His is usually level with my eyebrows while I tend to focus on his ear, but in this instance his blue eyes strike me paralyzed.  He's so angry with me, I can see it, and I have to look away.

"Sorry.  Never mind," I say timidly.

The Seam is about a twenty minute walk from the town square, so they don't arrive until most of the merchants have already gotten their fill.  Luckily, there's more than enough for once, and I'm even able to sneak a few extra candies to Greasy Sae's granddaughter.

I see the Hawthorne's approaching and begin to make a stack for their portions.  I've just caught Gale's attention when I feel a hand on the small of my back.  And then Peeta's there, flashing his lovelorn smile as the camera clicks to capture the exchange.

He kisses me when Gale is only a few paces away and I can do nothing but return it with the Capitol watching.  He makes a show of shaking Gale's hand after, and I want nothing more than to run into the electrically charged fence, which has been humming since my return, and die.

The last time I was able to speak with Gale -- really speak with him -- was in the Justice Building before the Arena.  He has no idea what's gone on behind the scenes, except that I left District Twelve assuring him I'd never settle down, only to return a few weeks later with a boy I claimed I'd die for.  But Gale knows how I tick better than anyone, and I'm sure he's worked out most of the details of the game I've been playing for the cameras.  Still, I find that I'm too ashamed to look at him as I hand off his parcel.

He mumbles a halfhearted "thank you" and is gone before I can say a word.

I'm quietly seething with rage for the rest of the afternoon.  When Peeta and I are free to return to our homes in Victor's Village -- alone for once, I waste no time in confronting him.

"What was that?" I say when we've reached the rarely traveled path that leads to the Village.

"Hmm?" he says.  He's walking painfully slow, and it isn't because of his prosthetic, I've seen him run nearly as fast as I can with the thing.  He just doesn't want to walk with me.

"You know," I say, stopping to block his path on the trail.  "You know what you did."

He runs his fingers through his hair, freeing his wavy curls from the slick gel he'd applied.  "Your boyfriend will forgive you," he says, and it comes off especially harsh since he knows that Gale and I aren't together.  I've told him before.  "You're the victim here."

"We're both in danger," I remind him.

"Because of you.  You couldn't pull off the act without being coached.  That's why they're mad at us.  I was already there, remember?"  He laughs bitterly and tries to brush past me, but I cut him off again.

"You'd be dead if it weren't for me," I say, anger pumping so fiercely through my veins that I don't care how cruel I sound.

His face pales.  "I know," he says.  When he moves around me on the path this time, I let him.  He only takes a few steps ahead before he stops and turns to face me.  "I'm sorry," he says.

It doesn't feel right to accept his apology because I know I don't deserve it.

"Sometimes I let my pride get in the way, even when I know I shouldn't.  I guess pouring your heart out to a girl only to be humiliated when she admits she doesn't love you back doesn't really rank high on the life or death scale."

"Peeta--"

"No. Listen, okay?  I'll always be grateful to you for saving my life, but I can't be around you.  There's no in between for us.  And I can't take it.  Sitting around waiting for you to make up your mind when I know you're just dragging this out until you figure out a way to let me down gently."

I want to stop him there.  I'm not trying to let him down gently.  There's this part of me that's terrified of losing him and refuses to let him go.  I wouldn't have run into the belly of the feast if I thought I could leave him behind.  And I would have let my arrow fly at the cornucopia when they revoked the two winners rule.  The only problem is, I'm not sure if my actions were fueled by my need to beat the Games, or my need to keep Peeta safe.

My confusion only serves to ruin things all over again, and I see the last bits of hope drain from Peeta's gaze.

"Don't worry," he says.  "I get it.  I'll pretend for the Victory Tour.  You can count on me.  But outside of that this doesn't exist.  It  hurts too much."

I watch him recede around the bend and my feet tremble, ready to sprint after him.  But my head wins out for once, and I know that it's time to let him go.


End file.
